M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

“I see. Then you told him about the letter?”

“I think I told you that Andrew gave the letter to me. Yes, he knows what is in the letter. He has been very helpful to me. Now I have a question for you, Brad. How did you have access to Paul’s personal belongings a year before he died?” Charlene looked at Brad expectantly.

“Assuming this letter is authentic, as it seems to be, I can tell you, Charlene. When Paul was killed, or when we thought he had been killed, his belongings were in his quarters. I naturally gathered up personal items I was sure he wanted you to have. If this is true, the person we all assumed was Paul was not. And why would we not continue in that assumption—we heard nothing from him—until now.”

“I understand,” she said nodding her head. “Of course, that was why the letter was such a shock to you as well. I’m sorry, Brad, that I was thoughtless of your feelings.” She raised her eyes to meet his, “I do not intend to give up until I learn the truth about what happened to my husband,” she declared firmly.

Brad knew it was useless to say any more. “I want to help you all that I can, Charlene. You are a remarkable woman and friend,” he said, while thinking, and a foolish one.

“You’ll never know how much I appreciate your change of heart, Brad. Together I’m sure we can get to the bottom of this mystery.”

“It could be a big task,” Brad answered. “When I get back to Washington I will begin looking into the matter thoroughly. We will have to examine the records; everything back to Saigon.”

“And I will talk to Andrew; perhaps he can help from this end to get the wheels in motion toward having the body exhumed that is buried in Paul’s grave. He has the necessary political contacts,” she said eagerly. She was pleased to think Brad was moved to help her.

Brad looked at her in consternation, and said firmly, “Let’s take this one step at a time, Charlene. First, let me see what I can find out. The body isn’t going anywhere. When the time is right we will get an order to have it exhumed. And let’s go through proper military channels, shall we? I know that Paul would want that.”

She nodded in agreement, “Of course you’re right, he would. Thank you, Brad. I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

“Shall we call it a night, my dear; I must call Olivia and let her know how things have turned out.”

“So late? Oh it’s not really all that late; give her my love and tell her I will be in touch shortly. Goodnight, Brad, and thank you again.”

“Goodnight, Charlene, drive home carefully.” He rose to help her with her coat and walked her through the lobby to the door. She embraced him briefly before going out.

In many ways he hoped this could turn out differently; he genuinely liked Charlene. Better not get sentimental, he told himself. He made his way into the hotel bar found a quiet table and ordered a night cap.

He sat thinking of how he would deal with Charlene, knowing her determination. He knew realistically he could stall her for a few weeks or possibly months. The wheels of government grind slowly and he could plead paperwork, but he also knew she would not accept ‘red tape’ as an excuse for long. “I am going to have to make a decision soon. There’s too much at stake. She obviously accepted my explanation about Paul’s personal items and the fact that I didn’t see him again–but there’s Kelshaw.”

By the time Andrew had finished his broadcast and cleaned up some paper work, it was 7:45 PM. Knowing Coleman and Charlene would be at dinner at the Olympic, he had deliberately taken his time at the station with the intention of checking on the situation before the evening was over.

He wanted a first hand look at Coleman and he didn’t want Charlene to be aware of his presence; newspaper in hand he chose a comfortable chair in the lobby where he could unobtrusively watch the comings and goings of the diners.

He observed Charlene and Brad as they exited the dining room and said goodnight noting the embrace she had initiated. “Looks like things went better tonight,” he mused.

He followed Brad into the bar and waited as he was seated and had ordered a drink. Brad’s thoughts were interrupted by the man who slid into the chair opposite him.

“General Coleman?”

Brad looked up in surprise, “Who the devil are you?”

“Andrew Kincaid is my name—it’s time we talked.”

So this is Kincaid he thought. “You’re a friend of Charlene Thayer, am I correct?”

“You are correct and it was my impression that you were supposed to be her friend as well. I know she met with you to discuss the letter from her husband that George Kelshaw carried. To say she was disappointed by the first meeting would be an understatement.”

“Go on,” Brad urged. “What else do you know?”

“I know that you told her the letter was a fraud and that when she didn’t buy it you turned ugly and threatened her. I think you should know that there are at least three other people including me, who believe it is genuine,” he added, “There was a fourth but he’s dead.”

Brad sat back and studied his antagonist. “And just who are the other two people? And I also might ask what evidence would you, who never met Paul Thayer, have that would support your theory?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell you that, General. Right now I want to talk about Charlene. She means a great deal to a number of people, myself included, who don’t want her threatened in any way. She’s already been through enough!”

“I’m curious, Mr. Kincaid, what is your relationship with M rs. Thayer?” emphasizing her married name, Brad asked with some disdain. “Is this protective interest of yours purely platonic or is there some other more personal agenda?”

“I don’t think that is any of your business.” Andrew was on his feet looking down at Brad who calmly remained seated. “I just want you to be aware that she has friends who care about her and who will help her do what she has to do to find out what happened to her husband. With that said, I’ll bid you goodnight, General.”

“You know, Kincaid,” he said derisively, ignoring Andrew’s closure, “You could be playing in a game that’s way over your head.”

Andrew turned and looked squarely into Brad’s eyes. “We’ll see,” he said confidently. “Don’t try to intimidate me, Coleman, it won’t work; I especially don’t like bullies, in uniform or out,” he added.

“The power of the press not withstanding, don’t over play your hand, Kincaid,” Brad said coolly. “But I’ll give you a ‘gift,’ I could wait and let Mrs. Thayer tell you this, but what the hell; there are still four people who believe the letter is authentic. In fact, tonight at dinner I told Charlene that I, too, agreed that it was genuine and that I would do everything I could to help her find answers to her questions.” Then adding a footnote he said smiling in mock pleasantry, “I am very glad that she has such good friends, as in you.”

Andrew stood his ground, “You just keep that in mind, and let me leave you with this thought, General. I would take it very personally if you should cause her any more unpleasantness. Goodnight again.”

Brad was thoughtful as he entered his suite and prepared for bed. It was too late to call Olivia, but he would do that first thing in the morning. He was thinking overall it had been a profitable day.

He thought about Kelshaw and the information he carried. It hadn’t surfaced in Bangkok; but his contacts there had informed him it was in Kelshaw’s possession. If it came with him, where is it? Based on Ramsey’s information everyone who could have had it has been ruled out. Ramsey could be right; Kelshaw could have stashed it somewhere. It didn’t come ashore with anyone else, he was certain. Kelshaw is dead. If it’s on the ship he won’t be going back to get it.